


Standing In The Doorway

by drambuie11



Series: Province [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drambuie11/pseuds/drambuie11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SLASH Dean/Xander. Sequel to Set The Fire To The Third Bar. Xander tries to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cruel Guards

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Story title from a song by Bob Dylan. Spoilers for Buffy Season 7. Cross-posted at Twisting the Hellmouth.

Xander let himself into his apartment, distractedly sniffing himself and hoping the scent of burnt letterman jacket wasn’t going to linger in his clothes. As he shrugged off his coat, the phone rang.

The sun was barely up. This couldn’t be good.

With a sigh, he answered.

“Hey, it’s me.” Dean. Probably the last person Xander expected.

“Hey,” he replied, feeling a little cautious. Hearing Dean’s voice reminded him pretty harshly of what Dean had said to him the last time they’d seen each other. If this was an apology, he wasn’t going to make it easy.

But Dean didn’t say anything. It occurred to Xander that maybe Dean was waiting for _him_ to apologise. Fuck that.

“Did you call for a reason?” Xander asked impatiently. He was sick of waiting for Dean to sort his shit out. Right now, he’d rather be asleep in bed. His summer construction job had ended a week ago, and with it the need to be awake at the asscrack of dawn.

“Yeah,” Dean answered. “Look, Alex, I called to say that we can’t meet up anymore.”

“What?” Xander said. First the fight, now this?

“Sam’s girl died, and he’s gonna be on the road with me for a while,” Dean said abruptly.

“Oh,” Xander said, taking a step back. Sam had lost a loved one, and it was typical Dean to do the right thing by him. Xander had always thought it sounded like Sam had abandoned him, but Dean had never seen it that way.

But then Dean went on. “And it’s time we gave up on this anyway, right? Focus on our separate lives?”

And Xander’s mental processes came to a screeching halt. Gave up? What the fuck?

“Dean…” he began, but Dean’s rushed voice came through one last time and then there was nothing but dial tone.

Xander stared at the phone for a second, disbelief and fury warring inside him. Anger won, and he punched *69. “Oh, no, you fucking don’t,” he muttered, bringing the phone back up to his ear.

 _The number you have dialled is not available. The number you have dialled…_

What the fuck? Okay, Xander thought, trying to calm himself. It’s one of those payphones that doesn’t take incoming calls. He tried Dean’s cell.

Straight to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message.

Fucking bastard, he thought numbly.

***

Xander tried Dean’s cell number a dozen times over the next few hours. He didn’t sleep, and when he had to go to work, he called on his breaks. But the number went to voicemail every time. He couldn’t bring himself to leave a message.

All he could think about was the fight. That stupid, stupid fight. What the hell had he been thinking? He’d pushed, and broken every unspoken rule of their relationship, and thrown all their years of sneaking around back in Dean’s face.

And Dean had dumped him for it.

Fuck. He had to fix it. He could talk to Dean, take it all back, and everything could go back to the way it was. It couldn’t end like this.

As soon as his shift behind the bar at the Bronze ended, Xander headed for his car. He was due at Buffy’s for a post-patrol check-in. But when he pulled out of the alley and drove off, Xander found himself, literally, at a crossroads.

Left would take him to Buffy’s place, but right would take him out of Sunnydale.

He could go. He could head for the highway, track Dean down and talk him around. Beat some sense into him, if necessary. Tell him he didn’t mean it, that it could all go back to the way it was.

And Dean had to answer his cell at some point. Xander was willing to call from every roadside phone he could find, if that’s what it took.

With that thought in mind, he pulled out his cellphone to try again. But this time, instead of voicemail, he got an automated message.

 _The number you have dialled has been disconnected. The number you have dialled has been disconnected. The number you have dial—_

He snapped the phone shut, cutting off the voice.

Disconnected.

Xander sat there in the dark of his car, stunned.

Dean had shut down his account, and Xander didn’t have a new number.

Not answering any calls was one thing. But deliberately shutting down the only phone number Xander had…

He vaguely wondered if his emails would bounce as well, if he bothered to send any.

Dean’s words came back to him, and reality settled in like a heavy weight. _Time we gave up. Separate lives._

It was over.

***

The next few days were a nightmare. Spike was killing, and one of the whiny little creeps that killed Tara showed up. Bringers swarmed the house, and beating up the freakish bastards was probably more satisfying than it should have been. But Xander couldn’t stop Dean’s words from going on loop in his head.

Eventually he had to escape, had to get out, if only for a few moments, to clear his head. Barely making it out onto Buffy’s porch, Xander gripped the railing hard, lowered his head and tried to breathe.

It was over.

The thought still made him feel sick. Over. Ended. He shuddered.

He desperately wanted to get in the car, take off, track Dean down and make that ‘over’ not be true anymore. But how could he leave them in the middle of this? How could he be that guy, the one that went for what he wanted over what was the right thing to do?

At that moment, he heard the front door of the house open behind him.

“Xander?” It was Buffy. She’d been inside with Dawn, questioning Andrew about the Seal.

Xander turned, and he knew his face was bleak, his eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t mask his feelings, not now, and for a few minutes, he didn’t care.

Buffy looked startled, then frowned at him. “Xander, are you alright? What’s going on?” She paused. “Is it Dean?”

He looked away, knowing it would tell her all she needed to know. But he didn’t think he could stand to see pity in her eyes. “It’s nothing, Buff. I don’t want to talk about it,” he managed bitterly. “What’s up?”

She seemed willing to let him pretend he was alright, but there was still enough sympathy in her face to make his hackles rise. “Andrew squealed,” she said. “We have to go to the high school, see if we can find the Seal.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said. Buffy nodded, and went back inside.

Xander turned to look back out over the street again, taking in the perfect, sunny, suburban view.

Over.

It was like the word broke something deep inside him, something he hadn’t even really known was there. It hurt, and for a second he felt like a child, surprised that something he loved could turn on him like that. Surprised at the unfairness of it.

But he only had a few seconds. They needed him, and he had to go back in and be normal. He had to stay calm, stay focused, and not fall apart, no matter how much he wanted to.

Xander wiped at his eyes and took a few deep breaths. It took a lot of effort, but he forced himself to stand straight, and, hoping no-one else would notice the bleeding hole where his heart used to be, he went calmly back into the house.

***

Xander spent the next few hours pretending everything was fine. He led Andrew around the school, thumped him when it seemed appropriate, and pretended to be freaked out by the goat’s head. He marched Andrew back to the house, and watched as Willow’s spell backfired.

He refused to think about Dean. Every time his thoughts strayed in that direction, he deliberately distracted himself. He asked a question, he left the room and went to make coffee, he reached for another book. He finished the repairs on the windows. He acted normal enough that Buffy even stopped glancing his way with a concerned look in her eyes.

Then Giles appeared with what he said were potential slayers and explained why the situation was worse than they’d even dreamed.

Hundreds of girls, all over the world, most of them gutted and bloody. The Council, gone.

The First Evil, poised to wipe out the entire slayer line.

Buffy and Giles went in search of Bringers, and Xander sat at the table, pretending to research. He snagged the cuff on his wrist on a book, and had to grip the table’s edge for a few seconds, holding on while he suddenly got the overpowering feeling that he was drowning.

He couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, he knew that much. But staying... Staying meant not even trying to find Dean. Staying meant giving up on him, giving up on any chance for a future for the two of them. Staying meant accepting that it was over.

And Xander couldn’t do that, either.

Later, he promised himself, helpless with indecision. When this is over, you can go after him.

***

Sunrise brought the news that Buffy had encountered a vampire older than any they’d ever encountered before, as if they needed an addition to the _from beneath you, it devours_ club.

And there was no intel. The book he was reading was useless. All the books were useless. Research was pointless, and everything sucked, and Xander had never felt more trapped in his entire life.

Trapped in his life. Hemmed in on all sides by vampires, slayers, needy friends, and his own stupid sense of duty, when all he wanted…

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, slammed his worse-than useless book shut. He had to get out.

He stood, and said, “I’m going out. I’ll be back before sunset.”

“We could really use your help here,” Giles reproached.

“I said I’d be back,” Xander snapped. “The bookfuls of useless information will still be here in a couple of hours.”

***

Xander strode through the doors of Sunnydale’s only gym, already feeling some of the tension ease out of his shoulders. He’d go in, start sparring with someone, and lose himself in the action.

His trainer took one look at him, and directed him to the punching bags.

Xander sighed, but what choice did he have? If Sheppard didn’t want him to fight yet, he couldn’t fight. He pulled off his sweatshirt, wrapped his hands, and started laying into the heavy bag.

Two hours later, Sheppard tossed him to the mattress for the fifth time.

Xander had managed to work out most of his anger on the bag, and in the process he’d worked out that some of his claustrophobia was just badly-masked fear. And fear, he could deal with.

But by the time Sheppard let him spar, thoughts of Dean were creeping in, and he’d started taking hits. His blows had got more and more uncontrolled and he’d been lashing out without thinking. Sheppard laid him out on the mats every time.

Now, the trainer crouched over Xander’s prone form with a concerned look on his face. Xander ignored him in favour of staring at the ceiling and trying to get his breath back.

For a brief second, he felt completely and utterly broken.

Dean was gone. He’d cut Xander out of his life, and it was starting to sink in that Xander might never see him again.

Funny how that bothered him more than all the monsters the hellmouth had ever thrown at him.

“You’re not usually this distracted,” Sheppard said, and Xander forced himself back out of his own head. “There something going on that I should know about?”

After a pause, Xander answered. “Don’t go outside tonight. Lock your doors as soon as the sun sets.”

Sheppard didn’t know about the hellmouth, but some internal radar seemed to tell him Xander was involved in more than just bartending and the occasional construction job. Two years of teaching Xander to fight, and he didn’t ask questions, even when Xander added bladed weapons to their usual training. But he listened when Xander told him not to take his kids to a certain park, or not to use the alley behind the gym for a while.

“Okay,” Sheppard said evenly. “Anything else?”

Xander just grunted, and pushed himself up off the floor. He fingered his ribs, trying to guess how bad the bruises would be. It had been a long time since Sheppard had been able to beat him down so easily.

He headed off the training mats, and began unwrapping his hands. Without turning, he said, “I got dumped.”

Xander could feel the silence behind him, feel that frozen moment of surprise. He was surprised himself – he hadn’t meant to say anything, and it was harder to hear it out loud than he’d expected.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Sheppard said, following Xander off the mats.

Xander flinched at the concern in his voice, then smiled mirthlessly. “Well, I’m not anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Sheppard said softly.

Genuine sympathy, and it was too much for Xander to handle. He wrenched the last of the tape off his hands, grabbed his half-open gym bag and left without saying another word.

***

Annabelle. Their first casualty. Round one to the hellmouth. And for a few long moments that night, it felt like the war was already over.

When Xander pulled the sheet of corrugated iron off the body of his best friend, it really sank in that they probably wouldn’t survive this one.

He’d always known, of course. With every apocalypse, the thought was always there in the back of his mind. And part of knowing about the monsters in the dark was knowing that every day could be your last.

But before, he’d always had something more to fight for. His friends, sure, but something else. Someone who needed him, someone who would drive three states so they could spend a weekend together. Someone who looked at him like the sight of Xander’s face made his world just a little bit better.

Now, though, that was gone, and Xander was starting to doubt whether it had ever actually been like that in the first place. And they were losing the fight. He’d never felt so mired in darkness.

Xander carried Buffy’s badly beaten body back through the streets himself. He could just feel the movement of her ribs as she breathed, and it was the only way he could tell she was still alive. When he reached the house, he headed for the stairs, straight up to her room.

“Tell the girls she sprained an ankle,” he murmured to Willow, who nodded and vanished back down the stairs, promising healing tea.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Giles said, taking a left into the bathroom.

“That’d be good,” Xander replied. “I think she’s coming round,” he added, not even sure Giles could still hear him.

He laid Buffy down on the bed, taking in the bruises and scrapes. Her eyelids started fluttering. “Buff? You in there?”

She opened her eyes and smiled weakly at him. God, she looked so tired. He smiled back, hiding his doubts deep inside. The last thing she needed right now was doubt.

“You’re gonna be fine, Buff,” he promised. “You just rest up. And I’m afraid Willow’s making you some tea,” he warned.

She grimaced, and he chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t like her tea, either.”

“Maybe if she put some booze in it,” she grumbled, then winced, and gingerly fingered a bruise on her jaw.

A shuffle behind him, and Xander turned to see Giles come in, massive first aid kit in hand. He backed off as Giles took over, and took a seat in the armchair by the door.

Willow joined them, smelly tea in hand. “How’s she doing?”

Xander shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” He grinned. “Not looking forward to your tea,” he teased, wrinkling his nose.

She rolled her eyes. “My teas are good. Deal with it, Xander.”

He faked gagging.

“I do wish you two could take this seriously for more than two seconds together,” Giles muttered absently from the vicinity of the bed.

“Jesus, Giles, don’t you recognise a coping mechanism when you see one?” Xander said lightly. At least, it was meant to be light.

There must have been something in his voice, though, because while Giles kept his attention on Buffy’s prone form, bandaging and disinfecting with field-hospital efficiency, his back tensed up and he didn’t respond.

Xander glanced over at Willow, only to find himself on the receiving end of a concerned look.

“What?” he said defensively. “It’s true.”

After a pause, she replied, “I know, Xander.”

Xander frowned. Was it something he said?

***

It was late when Xander ran into Willow on the stairs. “Hey there,” he said. “You can’t sleep either?”

“No, I seem to have a roommate who’s...well,” she hesitated uncomfortably. “She’s chatty.”

“God, tell me about it. The girls in the living room won’t shut up,” he said, as they headed into the empty kitchen. “Why couldn’t I go home again?”

“Because there’s a prehistoric vampire out to kill us?” she said. He could tell she was trying for good humoured, but the funny got lost somewhere. Willow seemed to notice, because she screwed up her nose, and said “Is it me, or is this apocalypse getting harder and harder to joke about?”

There was a second where Xander considered possible innuendo, but instead, he answered seriously. “I know what you mean,” he said. “It’s just...bigger, or something.”

“Or something,” she agreed, pulling out some mugs for tea, and Xander tried to brace his taste buds for the assault. He leaned on the counter next to her and stared off into space.

“I think Buffy’s right when she says we need to be an army,” he mused. “It feels like we’ve really got to pull out all the stops on this one, you know? The stakes are higher, and it’s do-or-die time. I’ve just been thinking that we’ve all got to do everything we can.”

Xander was talking about himself more than anything, trying to give himself the excuse he was looking for, the excuse to fight until the pain inside him went away. But Willow didn’t quite take it that way.

“I know that, Xander,” she said, and he looked up, startled by her defensive tone. “I know I have to get control of the magics, I know I can be a weapon. But I don’t need the pressure, not from Buffy, or you, or Kennedy. Maybe if everyone would stop trying to force me to do it, it’d be easier—”

“Willow, stop,” he interrupted. “I’m not talking about magic. I would never pressure you to do that, you know I wouldn’t.”

She looked at him for a second, studied his serious face, then deflated. “I know,” she admitted. “I might be feeling a little over-sensitive.”

He smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

She nodded, then frowned at him. “How about you? Are you fine?”

“Sure,” he replied uncertainly.

“It’s just that you seem a little off lately,” she explained. “And Buffy said you got some bad news. I thought it might be something to do with... Well, is there anything you want to talk about?”

She looked concerned, ready to be there for him if he needed her. But Xander could hear the unspoken ‘something to do with Dean’, and the super-supportive act grated

He kept his eyes on the ground for a moment, trying to get a grip on the irrational irritation he suddenly felt. She’s just worried about you, he told himself. When he’d talked himself out of defensively snapping at her, he admitted, “Yeah, I guess there is something. It’s Dean. It was, I mean

“What happened?” she asked neutrally.

Xander hesitated. “It’s over.”

It still hurt to say it out loud.

“I’m sorry,” Willow said, and the concern in her eyes was genuine. Then she turned away to make the tea, and he could practically hear the effort it took not to say ‘I told you so’. “You haven’t said anything about it,” she said after a moment, voice still carefully neutral.

“Yeah, well, you guys haven’t ever been that interested in the whole thing, so I kept my mouth shut,” he said bitterly.

“That’s not fair. We were interested,” she argued. “You stopped talking about him.”

“Because every other conversation I had with you and Buffy included the phrase, ‘you could do so much better’,” Xander snapped.

Tea things forgotten, she turned to face him. “Xander, we just wanted you to have someone who was here, not someone who just called you up for sex whenever he was in the state.”

“That’s not how it was,” he replied angrily.

“We didn’t want you to be with someone who couldn’t tell his father about you,” she went on, years of pent-up criticism finally venting. “We didn’t want you to be with someone who never bothered to come here and meet any of us. We wanted you with someone who would appreciate you, someone who would actually care if you cheated on him,” and man, did Xander regret telling Willow about _that_.

“It wasn’t about what you wanted,” he snapped. “My relationship with Dean is _my_ relationship. I get that you want the best for me, but it’s my goddamn decision,” he shouted. As soon as the words left his mouth, he deflated. “Or it was, anyway,” he finished quietly.

Willow’s face fell, and he watched remorse creep in. “Xander,” she began.

“Forget it,” he said brusquely, trying to shut the emotions down again. “It doesn’t matter now. I’ll be fine.”

That effectively shut the conversation down, and Willow went back to the mugs on the counter. Xander thought of leaving, but every other room in the house was full of girls, and he wasn’t angry enough to need to leave the house. So he stood there, tense and pissed off, with nowhere else to go. Story of my fucking life, he thought.

“I am sorry, Xander,” she repeated abruptly, breaking the frosty silence that had enveloped the kitchen.

A rejection was on the tip of his tongue, but when he looked at her he could tell she was sincere. “Yeah,” he exhaled. “I know it wasn’t an ideal situation,” he added hesitantly, his own way of apologising. “But you can’t help who you fall in love with, right?”

She offered him a small smile as she poured hot water, and Xander resigned himself to choking down the mugful. His mind wandered, and he realised that their wildly unsuccessful love lives could be considered just another thing the two of them had in common. The three of them, if you counted Buffy, which he probably should.

It wasn’t really a comforting thought, and the bitter taste of Willow’s tea didn’t help. But he did the best he could to deal with it.

***

The group walked out of the construction site in silence. But barely-suppressed excitement filled the air, and Xander knew the quiet wouldn’t last. The girls, filled with renewed hope and sense of purpose now that the Turok Han was dead, would start to chatter as soon as they felt it was safe enough. Thankfully, he was due at work in half an hour.

He jogged to catch up with Buffy. “Hey, you’re going after Spike now, right?”

She sighed, and nodded tiredly.

“Walk me to work?” he asked. She smiled, and they said their goodbyes to Willow and Dawn and headed off.

“Just like old times, huh?” He and Buffy had patrolled like this for years, him on his way to work and her out for the night. He usually tried to catch up with her afterwards as well, or she’d come by the Bronze for a drink.

“Yeah, we haven’t had time for much of that lately, have we?” she replied.

Xander shrugged. “I’m sure our schedules will match up again some time.”

They walked on in silence for a moment. Then Buffy said, “So, was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Xander’s mind had been wandering, and the question brought him back to the present with a jolt. “Huh? No.” He paused. “Why? Should there be?” he asked cautiously.

She exhaled, irritated. “No. I guess not. I just…it’s complicated.”

“Okay,” Xander offered.

“I mean, things with Spike. They’re complicated.”

Realisation dawned. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. I know it bothers you, and I know you brought me out here because you wanted to talk to me about it, but—”

“Buff, I didn’t bring you out here for anything,” Xander interrupted. She still looked suspicious, so he added lightly, “I wanted a bodyguard, alright? You might be a slayer, but some of us still need protection from the mean streets of Sunnydale.”

She relaxed a little, but still frowned. He studied her for a minute. “What made you think I wanted to talk to you about Spike? I haven’t said anything about him lately,” he asked.

“I know,” she said. “I don’t know. Willow was worried about you. You’re okay, though, right?”

She looked at him uncertainly. Xander didn’t meet her eyes, but said, “I’m okay. Things with Dean...things with Dean are over, though.”

He said it calmly, like it didn’t mean anything. Like it had been the casual, sex-based thing she’d always assumed it was. And she believed him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and her sympathy was genuine and distant. Part of him hated her for not seeing how much the loss hurt him, but the rest of him was just sick of the whole situation. Let her and Willow believe what they wanted about him and Dean. He couldn’t be bothered arguing with them about it, especially not now that it was over.

“Thanks,” he replied. They walked half a block in silence. “You know, there was something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Shoot,” she invited, more relaxed than before, but tensing slightly at his opener.

“I’ve been thinking,’ he began, then paused, suddenly unsure how to continue. “I guess it’s everything we’ve come up against lately. I mean, take tonight. That was one hell of a fight, and we’ve barely got started.”

“This whole thing is big, Buff, and…it’s making me think about things,” he added.

She looked over. “Think about what?”

And it was like she was really listening to him, for the first time in forever.

He shrugged. “Life. What we all might have been doing if we’d never lived in this fucked-up little town. If we weren’t fighting for our lives every night. You’re not the only one who wondered what it would be like to have another kind of life, Buff,” he reminded her.

She stopped, and turned to stare at him. “Xander, you chose this. I never made you…I never _wanted_ you to…”

“I know, and I’m not saying you did. I chose this. I’m aware of that,” he replied, more harshly than he’d intended. He paused, and when he spoke, his voice was calmer. “But things change. Your life changes around you, and you have to look at your choices again.”

She stared at him for a second. “What exactly are you trying to tell me, Xander? You’re, what, reviewing your options?” Betrayal and disbelief were written all over her face.

“I’m trying to tell you I’m in,” he said sharply. “Wholeheartedly,” he added, voice softening as he saw her get it.

He was telling her he was ready to die for the cause, and sorrow bloomed on her face. “Xander…”

“Don’t think for a second that I doubt you or your abilities,” he said quietly. “You know that I never have. But this is going to get ugly, and I need you to know that I’m here. For whatever you need.”

It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, anymore. His chance at a future outside all of this was gone, and his friends were all he had left. If he went down, no-one else would care.

He could tell Buffy could see some of his determination in his face, some of his lack of doubt. He wondered briefly whether she would put the two conversations they’d had together and come up with the right answer. Probably not, he decided. It seemed he was just as good at hiding his feelings as any other guy. Who’d have thought?

She assessed him for a moment more, and then he could have sworn he saw his own determination to fight-to-the-death reflected back at him through her eyes. Times like this, he remembered she’d been heartbroken a few times herself.

“Whatever it takes,” she echoed, nodding slightly. He smiled grimly, and without another word, they turned to head towards the Bronze.

***

Work. An eight-hour shift behind the bar. Xander took orders, he was friendly, he flirted, he mixed drinks, and he pretended that the world wasn’t ending all around them. He pretended his own private world hadn’t recently been ripped apart.

And it worked, a little. He got lost in the rhythm of it all, just worked on automatic and didn’t think about anything. It helped.

Then his shift ended, and he took a deep breath as he stepped out of the bar. Back to reality. Rico and Carly came out behind him.

“We’re the last ones out, boss,” Rico said.

Xander nodded. “Did you get the lights out back?”

“Yep,” Carly said, stopping to light a cigarette.

Xander locked the doors, then paused. Normally, he’d grin and tell her smoking could kill her, she’d laugh, and he’d leave, shaking his head at her self-destructive addiction. But tonight, his hands suddenly felt empty.

“You mind if I have one of those?” he asked.

Carly and Rico exchanged surprised glances. “Um, boss? You don’t smoke,” she said warily.

“I do today,” Xander replied. Carly offered him the cigarette she’d just lit, surprised look still on her face.

“Your stress level gone up or something, Xander?” Rico asked, pulling out his own pack of smokes.

Xander chuckled bitterly. “You could say that.” He took the cigarette and took an experimental drag.

He’d half-expected to embarrass himself by coughing his lungs out, or worse, bursting into tears. The last cigarette he’d had was Dean’s, back when he smoked. And before that was Jesse and a very short-lived, thirteen-year-old rebellion that Willow had swiftly put a stop to.

But instead of reminding him of some of the best and worst moments of his life, and thus completely depressing him, he found it relaxing. It gave him something to focus on, something to do with his hands.

“Are you alright?” Carly asked cautiously.

Xander shook his head. “Yeah, it’s fine. Nothing to worry about. You two take care, okay?” With that, he shoved one hand in a pocket and headed off down the street to his car.

***

Xander let himself into his apartment. Looking around, it felt like years since he’d been in there. These days it seemed like all he did was hang out at Buffy’s, sleep, or run for his life, with a little time at work thrown in for kicks. Thank god he’d tidied the place up and taken the trash out when he’d last been home, whenever that was. Nothing was more depressing than a tiny, shithole apartment with old take-out containers all over the floor.

Grimacing at the slightly stale air, he tossed his keys on the table and crossed to open the window. He really should sleep, he thought, staring out at nothing.

He’d never felt so deeply grateful for privacy. Willow had wanted him to stay at the house, but with new girls arriving every day, they were seriously running out of room. They wouldn’t send any Potentials here until they got desperate, and Xander realised that possibly the only benefit of his tiny, shithole apartment had just been made clear to him.

So, until they literally couldn’t fit a single additional girl in at Buffy’s, Xander had privacy. Privacy enough to finally berate himself for fucking up the only thing that had been keeping him going this whole time.

He’d meant what he said during his conversation with Buffy. He’d been thinking about his choices, about the ones he kept making, and why he made them. All these years and he hadn’t even realised how much knowing Dean had changed him.

He’d been such a kid when he finished high school, such an awkward, insecure geek, totally overwhelmed by the prospect of starting a life outside of high school. Then he’d met Dean, and even in the beginning, when they were just friends, Xander had started to think that maybe this life thing wasn’t too scary after all.

He still couldn’t put a finger on exactly what it was. He just felt so easy around Dean, so un-pressured. Being with Dean showed him a side of himself he’d never knew existed. The fantastic-sex side, sure, but also the side of him that didn’t need to joke about every damn thing, that wasn’t afraid to sit in silence for a while. The side of him that didn’t clamour for attention cause he finally felt like himself. With Dean, he felt like he’d finally worked out who he was.

And it had changed his life. He stopped imagining that the girls left him out on purpose, and found stuff to do on his own. He learnt to fight, not to prove himself but to be safe, to help protect people. He stopped fucking around with fast food and got a job at the Bronze that he actually liked. It was almost like he’d found a secret weapon, a spark inside that kept him confident and gave him the guts to try. It was corny as hell, but having Dean in his life made Xander believe in himself so much more.

Who wouldn’t want that feeling all the time? Xander still couldn’t blame himself for wanting to get as close to that feeling as possible.

But he pushed too hard, and now it was gone. A single phone call, and it was over. Dean cut him off so easily, Xander had to wonder how much he’d been reading into their relationship that simply wasn’t there.

Sure, they were friends. But when Xander pushed, when he’d demanded more than Dean was willing to give him, Dean had given up. He’d let it go, let _them_ go.

Maybe Dean just hadn’t cared that much, and decided to get rid of Xander while he had the airtight excuse of his brother’s grief. He must have been so relieved, Xander realised, and the thought made his gut twist with self-loathing.

No, he told himself. Dean cared about him. Just not enough. It hurt to think about; all these years, he’d thought they had something, he’d stupidly believed they were more than just friends.

He thought over all the times he thought he’d seen love in Dean’s eyes. Clearly, it was just friendship, maybe even affection. Sure, Dean had liked him, or whatever. They were friends.

But it wasn’t love. Dean had never said it, hadn’t ever said the words. Xander had just gotten confused, cause the sex was so fantastic, and because it felt like Dean understood him better than anyone ever had. But Dean had never promised him anything.

With that thought in mind, Xander pulled away from the window and headed for bed. He toed his boots off and lay down, fully clothed. He didn’t bother to close his eyes, cause he knew he wouldn’t sleep.

It’s okay to miss him, Xander told himself. Who wouldn’t? You’re allowed to miss your friend when he’s not here. But he’s not coming back. You were just wrong about the love part.

Alone in his silent apartment, he stared at the ceiling.

***

Xander hung back as all the girls followed Buffy out of the room, his eyes on Dawn as she was passed by all of them. He waited as she sat and opened a book, waited until she noticed he was there.

“What’s up?” she asked. It sounded light, but he could see the tension in her shoulders and hear the tightness underneath her normal voice.

He circled around, taking his time to take the seat next to her. “I’m just thinking about the girls. It's a harsh gig, being a potential. Just being picked out of a crowd, danger, destiny.” He paused, then grinned. “Plus if you act now, death.”

She didn’t smile. “They can handle it.”

“Sure,” he agreed. “They’re special. And not one of them will ever know, not even Buffy.”

Dawn frowned at him. “Know what?”

“How much harder it is for the rest of us,” Xander said softly.

“No way. They’ve got…”

He interrupted her. “Seven years, Dawn. Working with the slayer. Seeing my friends get more and more powerful. A witch. A demon. Hell, I could fit Oz in my shaving kit, but come a full moon, he had a wolfy mojo not to be messed with. Powerful. All of them. And I'm the guy who mixes drinks and fixes the windows.”

“But you can fight,” she protested. “You train harder than…” She stopped, and he watched realisation flow over her face. “You train harder than any of them, don’t you? To keep up.”

Xander cleared his throat, and changed the subject. “I saw what you did last night.”

“Yeah, I…” She stopped, embarrassed. “I guess I kinda lost my head when I thought I was the slayer.”

“You thought you were all special, and the minute you found out you weren't, you handed the crown to Amanda without a moment's pause. You gave her your power.”

Dawn shrugged. “The power wasn't mine.”

“They'll never know how tough it is, Dawnie, to be the one who isn't chosen. To live so near to the spotlight and never step in it. To be the ordinary one.”

“You’re not ordinary,” she protested.

“Yeah, I am, Dawnie. There’s different ways to be ordinary, but no-one’s ever mistaken me for anything but.”

“Dean did,” she said hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to say his name. As Xander shook his head, she insisted. “He did, I could tell from everything you told me about him. And why else would he keep coming back to you?”

Xander winced, and Dawn’s mouth shut with a snap. Xander knew she’d continued that thought to its conclusion, that Dean had obviously changed his mind, since he wasn’t coming back again.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and he could tell she was mentally berating herself.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he replied doggedly, wondering when he lost control of the conversation. Trying to suppress the pain and helpless rage that surfaced with every thought of Dean, he went back to what he’d been trying to say as if the digression hadn’t happened.

“Look, my point is, the thing about not being chosen is that you get to make a choice. You can have a normal life if you want, something away from the front lines, a life where you’ll have a future. Or you can stay and fight. But you should know now that you’ll have to learn more and train harder than any of these girls ever will. You’ll have to earn your place on the team, cause it hasn’t been given to you. And you have to choose the fight, because this time it didn’t choose you.”

He’d always wished someone had given him a little advance warning about the whole professional sidekick gig. If Dawn was going to start down the same road, the least he could do was make sure she knew that it took just as much dedication as the hero job, just as much sacrifice, and that in the end everyone with power usually got all the credit.

Dawn paused to think. Then, she asked, “Is that what you did? You chose?”

“Yeah, I did. A long time ago.”

“You ever wanna un-choose?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted with a tired smile.

She smiled back, then said wistfully, “It’s weird to think about what we might be doing, if we weren’t here. What our other lives might have been.”

He swallowed. Another life wasn’t actually something he could bear to think about.

It must have shown in his face, because Dawn said, “God, Xan, I’m sorry. I just…I shouldn’t be allowed to talk.”

He plastered on a reassuring face.

“I’m fine, I swear. Everybody’s got some regrets, right?”

“Right,” she said, with a hitch in her voice. “You know, I always thought he’d…”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he admitted softly.

“Can I think he’s a bastard pig-dog for leaving you?” she asked tearfully.

“Sure, if it makes you feel better,” he said. From anyone else, the sentiment would have had all his defenses slamming up. But not Dawn. She’d never judged him for any of it; she’d been the only one who believed him when he said he knew what he was doing.

An hour later, he poured himself a large glass of whatever the alcohol was Buffy had hidden away in the back of a kitchen cabinet.

He stared at the liquid for a moment, swilling it round in the glass. Then, he slowly and deliberately poured it down the drain.

No, he thought. Tomorrow will be better.

***

“Hey,” Xander said amiably, taking in the red-rimmed eyes and the way Willow’s body curled protectively around itself. At least she was her, not that psycho Warren. That had been so far beyond creepy. “You’re you again.”

“Yep,” Willow replied, putting on a brave face. “One hundred percent.”

“That’s a relief,” Xander said, easing himself down on to the sofa beside her, careful not to jostle. “Don’t know what I’d do without my Willow.”

She tucked her head into his shoulder with a sigh, and he hugged her close for a while.

“I kissed Kennedy,” she finally admitted quietly.

He jerked a little, surprised. “Really? I mean, I knew she liked you, but…”

“Yeah,” and Willow’s voice was shaky with suppressed tears. “And she kissed me first, I guess. But then I kissed back. I kissed back, and I let her be dead, Xander. I let her be gone, when I should be wanting her back, and…”

“Hey, shhh. Shhh,” Xander said, pulling her close again as sobs wracked her body.

“It’s okay, Wills. It’s okay,” he said meaninglessly, rocking her gently.

“I let her go, Xander. I’m letting her go, and it hurts so bad,” she whispered.

Xander closed his eyes for a brief second, hugging her tightly. He wanted to say something, he wanted to take the pain away. But he couldn’t find the words. All he could think was, even if she’s gone now, at least she was yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a song by The Panics.


	2. Me, I'm Not

Xander wiped spilled alcohol off the surface of the bar for the zillionth time since he’d started his shift, idly wondering how Buffy’s date was going. She’d been anxious about it, anxious about the weirdness with Spike. Xander figured fifty-fifty odds on the bleached menace leaving them alone or finding some way to crash the date.

Then someone sat at the stool across from him, and when Xander looked up, his heart started pounded in his chest. All thoughts of Buffy and Spike flew out of his head completely.

The man sitting on the other side of the bar wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t him. The hair was a shade too dark, the eyes were a little too light, the lips a little too thin. But the build was the same, and the way he smiled.

Before he could stop himself, Xander smiled back.

The not-Dean’s smile got wider. “Hey. Can I get a beer?”

“Sure,” Xander managed. God, that voice was…

When he handed over the beer, his hands were shaking. Not-Dean didn’t seem to notice.

“So, have I seen you around?” the not-Dean asked, casual and earnest. Dean was never earnest, not with complete strangers.

“Maybe. I work here, so…” Xander replied evenly, despite feeling like he was about to pass out.

Not-Dean grinned. “Well, this is my first time. I’m new in town. I’m Adrian.”

Adrian-not-Dean reached a hand across the bar, and after the slightest hesitation, Xander shook. “Adrian. I’m Xander.”

“Nice to meet you.” Adrian’s smile seemed to promise that things could get a whole lot more interesting than ‘nice’.

“Um…yeah, you too,” Xander replied, shaky again. Peripherally, he caught sight of some expectant faces just down the bar, and, with a flash of a smile to Adrian, hurried off to serve the other customers.

He was stuck down the other end of the bar for a while, but looked back over at Adrian more than once. And every time he did, Adrian met his eyes.

Fuck.

It wasn’t getting cruised that was the problem. He got hit on all the time, and back before he worked out how he really felt about Dean, he’d taken one or two people up on their offers. Of course, the girls hadn’t approved, and that was when he’d made the tactical error of telling them Dean didn’t actually care if he slept around. When he’d finally had the oh-my-god-I’m-in-love revelation, though, the one night stands had trickled off. He hadn’t slept with anyone but Dean in over a year.

And Dean was gone, and Xander knew he should maybe almost start thinking about looking into moving on. No matter how much it hurt.

But this guy…

This wouldn’t be moving on. This would be indulging himself with a clone. And that was wrong on more levels Xander really wanted to think about. That was practically _Spike_ wrong.

But Adrian stayed at the bar, kept talking to Xander, kept _looking_ at him. And Xander couldn’t stop wondering.

He finally escaped out the back on a break, and leaned against the wall of the alley for several much-needed deep breaths.

Fuck, this isn’t fair, he thought helplessly.

Then, out of the shadows came a soft “Hey.”

Xander’s head whipped around, only to find Adrian standing in the part of the alley that led out to the street.

“Hey,” Xander said, on reflex more than anything else. Just the sight of Adrian was making his brain short-circuit.

“Look, I don’t…this isn’t…” Adrian was nervous. Shy. He came closer, until he stood in front of Xander. “I never do this,” he confessed.

Xander frowned. “Do what?”

Adrian smiled slightly, and leaned in. And when Xander didn’t lean away, he found himself on the receiving end of a kiss.

Surprise kept him from responding for a full minute. Then, steeling himself, he very deliberately kissed back.

Dean was gone, he left, and he wasn’t coming back. Xander wasn’t ready to move on, but maybe…maybe a pale shadow of the real thing would help.

With one last, deep kiss, Adrian pulled back a little. And Xander pulled in a few breaths, trying to deal with the fact that Dean was no longer the last person to kiss him, and trying to muster the breath to say that no, this _did_ feel wrong and he didn’t actually want it now that he had it. But then another kind of wrongness registered with him.

Adrian wasn’t breathing.

He hadn’t stopped to breathe, just started trailing kisses down Xander’s jaw. And there was a distinct lack of heat radiating from the parts currently pressed up against Xander.

For a second, Xander was shocked. He tensed, and pulled back to look Adrian in the face. And damn, he looked just like Dean.

“What is it?” Adrian asked innocently. Something in Xander’s face must have given the game away, because the innocence flickered away, and suddenly a demon was standing there in not-Dean’s place. It tightened its grip on Xander’s body, and sank its teeth into his throat before he could react.

Xander gasped. Against all odds, he’d never actually been bitten. Sharp pain, and he could feel Adrian’s mouth moving against his skin, feel the suction.

Then he thrust the stake he’d pulled from his back pocket upwards through Adrian’s sweater and straight at his heart.

Xander fell back against the wall, coughing on vamp-dust. He touched his neck with trembling fingers. He’d been bitten. By a guy who looked so much like Dean it hurt. The irony wasn’t lost on him. But more than that, watching Adrian vamp out had been disturbing on more than the obvious level. All Xander had been able to think was that it could have been Dean. If that happened, if anything happened to Dean, Xander wouldn’t even know, not until vamp-Dean turned up on his doorstep.

Gritting his teeth, Xander forced that particular thought out of his mind. He already had more enough to worry about, starting with what he was going to tell the girls. Moving carefully, he pulled off his overshirt and used it to staunch the flow of blood from his neck. He headed shakily back into the Bronze without looking back.

Behind him, unnoticed, Spike stepped around a corner of the alley, a speculative look on his face. He smiled slightly as he watched Xander walk away, then disappeared back into the shadows.

***

Andrew propped the camera up on the sideboard, gazing mistily into the view screen at his current subject, who was seated a few feet away and under the misguided notion that he was alone.

“Behold, gentle viewer, the marvel that is Xander Harris. This is the slayer’s right hand man, without whom her world would surely crumble. While not blessed with the power of the chosen ones, he is the strength behind the throne, the manly presence in the slayer’s life, the friend she trusts in times of crisis.”

Xander, oblivious to the commentary behind him, allowed himself to get lost in thought.

He’d had Neil Young stuck in his head for almost a week now, and it kept reminding him of that weekend a few weeks after Buffy died, when he’d been to see Dean in San Francisco. Dean had let him get horribly drunk, listened to his stories, pretended not to notice when he cried, and finally put him to bed. The next day, he’d forced water and aspirin on Xander, didn’t tease him about his hangover, and went out for food and coffee without complaining. He’d been perfect.

When Xander left to go back to Sunnydale, it had rained heavily. They’d driven to the bus station, pulling in just as ‘Old Man’ came on the radio. Xander had pulled out the necklace he’d brought. “It’s for protection,” he’d said when he offered it to Dean.

Dean took it, put it round his neck. Then he’d chuckled, and pulled out a leather wrist cuff.

“Great minds think alike,” he’d said. “It won’t protect you or anything. It’s just, you know, something I thought you’d like.” He wrapped it round Xander’s wrist and tied it tightly.

Xander had smiled at him. Then he’d gotten out of the Impala and headed home.

Unnoticed, Andrew continued. “But what’s this? A moment of melancholy for our normally stoic fighter? Notice how his fingers rest on the leather cuff that never leaves his wrist. Is it a memento of a lost comrade? A reminder of a certain time in our favourite bartender’s life? Or a gift from a secret lover? Who can know?”

Andrew’s attention wandered from Xander, but he continued to narrate to his imaginary audience.

“Whatever the significance of this simple accessory, clearly Xander is a man burdened with deep thoughts, and his friendly, manly exterior is just a mask for a troubled and mysterious soul.” Andrew sighed wistfully. “I wonder if…Oh,” he said, looking at the camera again. “He’s gone.”

“Well, anyway, gentle viewers,” Andrew said awkwardly. “Know that Xander Harris is mysterious, and, uh, angst-ridden. He’s…really pretty, too.”

He fiddled with the camera’s buttons for a few seconds. Something about Xander’s look, and the way he smoothed the cuff on his wrist with his fingers, made Andrew feel inexplicably sad.

But he spotted Dawn down the hall, and scrambled to his feet. “Oh, Dawn. I wanted to interview you…”

***

A knock at the door of his apartment, and Xander sighed. He’d seen the tension between Buffy and Spike, and Spike and Wood, and Wood and Giles, and he really had no interest in how it had all gone wrong this time. It was late, and he was damn tired.

When he opened it to find Spike on the other side, he was less than impressed.

“Evening, Harris.”

“Spike. What are you doing here?” He really had no interest in the answer, and made sure that came across in his tone of voice.

“Just came for a chat,” Spike replied.

Xander frowned. “We don’t chat.”

“A conversation, then. Can I come in?” he asked, head cocked in that irritating way.

Xander narrowed his eyes. “Same thing, Spike, and you and I don’t indulge in either one of those things. Why don’t you just tell me what you want?”

“I saw you,” Spike replied. “In the alley,” he added, as if this clarified anything.

“In the…”

It took Xander a few moments to get it. Spike saw him in the alley. With the not-Dean, who turned out to be a vampire.

“Oh. That,” he hedged, his mind racing. Where the hell was Spike going with this?

“Yeah, that,” Spike agreed with a narrow smile. “You sure I can’t come in?”

A bit bewildered, Xander replied, “Even surer than I was before. What about the alley, Spike?”

“Well, it was an interesting sight, Harris, let me tell you. Puzzled me considerably.” Spike was all insinuation and bullshit, like he was laughing at Xander. As usual.

Xander rolled his eyes. “What the hell was so puzzling about it, Spike? So I staked a vampire. On occasion, I’ve been known to do that. If you hang around long enough, I can probably be persuaded to demonstrate.”

“You always let them make out with you before you stake them?”

Ah, that. Xander hadn’t mentioned that to the girls; just said the vamp got the drop on him. He decided to tough it out. He frowned, and crossed his arms. “That was a glitch,” he said calmly. “A case of mistaken identity, in a way. In the way that I thought he was human.”

Spike smirked. “What was it? Some misguided attempt at a one-night-stand? Vamps have got a lot of stamina, Harris, but you’d just regret it in the morning. Death’s really is no way to get over the love of your life.”

“As opposed to undeath?” Xander snapped. “Surprisingly enough, my sex life is none of your business.”

Spike smiled again, and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be so sure, mate,” he drawled. “I’m sure your birds would be interested to know you’re headed the same way as Buffy’s Captain Cornfed. I don’t think they’ll take it too well.”

Xander flinched at the mention of Riley. “It wasn’t like that, Spike, and if you’d been paying attention…”

“Oh, I was paying attention,” Spike interrupted, an intent look crossing his face. “I was paying attention to the way you looked at him, and the way you didn’t fight him off until _after_ he bit you. If I read you right, and I think I did, it looked like he reminded you of someone. Did he look like Dean? Is that why you just couldn’t say no?” Spike taunted.

That struck a little too close to home, and fury lanced through Xander. His face twisted as he lashed out.

And he almost lost his balance completely when his fist hit nothing but empty air. He stared for a second, stunned.

Then realisation dawned. “You! What the…get the hell away from me,” he yelled. His heart was racing, and he slammed the door. He backed away, eyes flicking uneasily between the door and the phone.

But before he could decide to call for help or make a run for it, the First came straight through the wall.

“Holy shit,” Xander managed. Spike smirked again, and God, it looked exactly like him. Smelled like him, too – the exact combination of cigarettes, leather and faint traces of iron.

“Not all that holy, no,” the thing said. “I will say, Droopy, you took a while to twig. If you’d put two and two together, you’d have realised Spike was busy getting some poor sap down off the Seal the night you were enticing strange boys into alleys.”

“Spike wasn’t there,” Xander said slowly. “He doesn’t know anything.” He stared at the First, trying to decide whether or not he should even engage it in conversation. Abruptly, he said, “If you think I’m killing those girls for you—” He stopped when it nailed him with a look.

“You will if I want you to,” it said coldly, promise in its voice. “You’ll cut out your own heart and eat it if I want you to, boy. By the time I’m through with you, you’ll do anything to get me out of your head.”

A chill ran down Xander’s spine. He believed it, utterly and completely. And he’d never been as afraid of Spike as he was of the thing currently wearing his body.

But there was no way he could admit that. “No. I’m not going to listen to you. You can’t touch me, and there’s no way you’re going to talk me into doing anything.” It was more bravado than anything else, and he had a bad feeling it could tell.

“Is that right?” Spike said evenly, cocking his head. “Maybe you’d believe it coming from someone else?”

Xander stared in horror as the thing turned into Buffy. She stood there, looking at him.

“Hey, Xan.” God, it was exactly like her. Smiled the same, imitated that inner light she had.

He swallowed hard and looked away.

“You don’t want to talk to me?” The sound of her voice drew his eyes, and she looked hurt. “I know I’ve been a little distant lately, but c’mon, saving the world, here. There’s no need to think I don’t care.”

“This isn’t going to work,” Xander insisted hoarsely. “I know what you’re trying to do, and you can’t convince me…”

“What?” she challenged. “Can’t convince you to get out of a bad relationship? Oh, I know. I gave up on that whole thing years ago. You want a casual sex thing, you go right ahead. I mean, who am I to judge?”she said, smiling a little.

Xander hardened himself against it. _It’s not her. It’s wearing her, but it’s not her._

It gave him a bright, warm smile, and turned to pace around the apartment. “That’s what you think, right? Buffy, the big old hypocrite. I mean, my relationships have been twice as screwed up as yours, and I still had the nerve to say you deserved better than Dean. It could be that I wanted better for you, and seeing him break your heart over and over was just too much for me.”

Before he could say anything, she went on. “But I got over it. You want to waste your time, go ahead. After all, I’ve got bigger things to worry about. Like how much I wish you’d all left me dead and buried, so I didn’t have to be a part of this stupid fight anymore.”

Xander flinched, and she paused. “Oh, I know you meant well, Xan. You didn’t mean to rip me out of heaven. You didn’t mean to screw up the natural order so badly that the personification of all evil could actually manifest.”

Nausea rolled through Xander’s stomach, but he reminded himself what it was here for, what it wanted him to do. The only way to get rid of it would be to stay calm and keep his mouth shut.

It went on, continuing its stroll around the apartment, taking in the weapons on the floor, the books on the shelves. She spoke lightly, her voice deceptively sweet. And Xander tried not to listen.

“No, I don’t blame you. I could, but I don’t. Makes all the things you blame me for seem petty, doesn’t it? But you’re a bit of a fuck-up sometimes, aren’t you, Xander?”

“And I just can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen to you. You’re already starting to feel trapped in this life, this fight that was never really yours to begin with. Sure, you’ve made the best of it, but don’t you resent us for keeping you from what you really want?”

Xander just shook his head. She eyed him, and went on. “Think about it. We’re the reason you stayed here, when you could have blown this town a long time ago. We’re the reason you fight, we’re the reason you didn’t go after Dean when you wanted to.”

“But you have to ask yourself, are we really worth it? I mean, you’re falling apart, Xander, and we’ve barely even noticed.”

“I guess it’s mostly because we never believed you when you said you loved him. I mean, can you blame us? We didn’t _want_ to believe you, because as a relationship, the whole thing was...well, it was kind of pathetic.”

Xander flinched again, then gritted his teeth. It wasn’t like that, he reminded himself. Buffy doesn’t think that. He concentrated on not reacting, on ignoring it as it dissected his love life.

“He’d call, and you’d come running. You’d spend a weekend with him every couple of months, and we’re supposed to believe this is actually a relationship?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Xander said, before he could stop himself. “Dean couldn’t...” He shut his mouth with a snap when he remembered who he was talking to.

“Couldn’t what?” Buffy said icily. “Couldn’t tell his father about you? Do you really believe that, or was it just a convenient excuse?”

But Xander refused to rise to the bait again. It shrugged, and went back to strolling around the room.

“Regardless, if we were any kind of friends, we’d be there for you. I mean, you _hated_ Angel, but you still tried to be there for me when that whole thing imploded. And again with Riley, and let’s not even bring up the whole Parker fiasco. But that’s what being young is about, right? You get to fall in love with people and have your heart broken, and it’s all just part of growing up.”

“And your friends are supposed to support you when it all falls apart. Or they’re supposed to notice, at least. We _should_ have noticed, Xander. It’s there to be seen, it’s _obvious_. How lonely you’ve been, and how much you miss him. But you’ve been dumped, and we’ve barely said anything about it.”

“How long do you think you’re going to be able to keep pretending we care about you, Xander? How long will it be before this half-life you live, this existence that’s barely enough to sustain you, comes crashing down around your ears? The cracks are already starting to show.”

“You’ve got a dead-end job, a shithole apartment, an apocalypse hanging over your head like a sword waiting to fall, and friends who barely speak to you. And now Dean, the one thing that was keeping you going, is gone.”

Xander swallowed heavily. The words were rolling through him, jerking all his fears and insecurities to the surface. But he knew that was exactly what it was trying to do, and he stubbornly decided it wasn’t going to get him that easily.

“And when the strain of it all finally gets to be too much, when you finally break into pieces,” she asked seriously, the inevitability of it in her eyes. “Do you really think we’ll be there for you?”

Silence hung in the apartment for a few long moments.

“Is this supposed to upset me?” Xander finally asked.

“Maybe,” it replied, tilting Buffy’s head and giving him an assessing gaze. “Is it working, or do you really believe in your friends that blindly?”

Xander chuckled bitterly. “I know they don’t approve of what happened with Dean. But I also know they’ll be there for me if I need them,” he said simply. And it was true. For every time they ignored him, or didn’t give him the support he wanted, there were thousands of other moments of unthinking kindness and camaraderie. That was how it worked.

“Really,” it said, twisting Buffy’s features into a sceptical expression.

“They’ll help me if I ask them for it,” he said quietly.

“And until then, you’re just going to suffer in silence,” it observed. Then it sighed. “Well, I guess if Buffy’s not pushing your buttons, maybe I will.”

With those last words, it morphed into Jesse.

Xander stared. His mouth dropped open. Jesse looked exactly the same as he had that night at the Bronze. The last time Xander had seen him, the last few moments before Jesse was dust.

He regarded Xander coolly for a second, then, abruptly, the coldness vanished and he smiled. “Xander, man, it’s good to see you. You look good, you got old. Like, in a good way,” he amended cheerfully. “You can buy beer, now, right?”

Old pain twisted in Xander’s gut, and he clenched his teeth. “This isn’t going to work, either.”

Jesse laughed. “Oh, come on, man, it’s working a bit. Admit it. I mean, we were best friends, and you just up and staked me. What the hell?”

“It was an accident,” Xander gritted out.

“An accident? Are you kidding? You killed me. You should at least be feeling guilty or something.”

“I do feel guilty,” Xander insisted, frowning. “I’m sorry, I’ve been sorry every day since…” He sighed, rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Jesus, why am I even talking to you?”

“Because I’m the last real friend you had, and you killed me?” Jesse suggested amiably.

Xander glared. He knew exactly where it was going with this. “It was an accident, and yes, Jesse was a real friend, a good friend. But I still have friends.” Broken record much? It was like a pitbull on the friends thing.

“Buffy was right, man,” Jesse said. “Look around you. Where are all your so-called friends now? They’ve gone off with vampires, or gone off to be dysfunctional witches – which, by the way, totally surprised me. I mean, our Willow? A witch? Man, she changed.” Jesse laughed, then continued. “Of course, none of them are here.”

Xander stared at Jesse quizzically. “So? There’s an apocalypse on, everyone’s busy. How self-involved do you think I am?”

“But they’ve never even been to this apartment,” it insisted.

Xander rolled his eyes. The First sighed ruefully. “You know, I really thought the dead childhood friend would work on you. I thought you actually had a heart, Harris. Oh, that’s right. You did. But it got broke.”

It morphed again, this time into someone Xander had never met before.

She had long, blonde hair, and the kindest expression on her face. She reminded him oddly of Joyce, although the age difference between the two women had to be at least fifteen years.

“…Am I supposed to know who you’re pretending to be this time?” Xander asked.

“No, I’ve been dead for more than twenty years. But you know my son,” Mary replied with a smile.

***

Dean’s mother. Xander watched her walk slowly around the room the same way Buffy just had, watched her trail her fingers over some of his stuff with a slight smile on her face. She was peaceful. Calm, and motherly. She was Dean’s mother.

After a few moments, she looked at him, her expression warm and her smile friendly. “Xander. Alex. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been watching you for a while now.”

“You have?” he said, and frowned. It’s the First, he told himself. But faced with her, it was hard to remember. She glowed, somehow, and made his horrible apartment seem…warm. Homey.

“Yes, I’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since you and Dean first met.” She came closer, to stand in front of him so she could examine his face. She met his eyes with a kind look.

“Why?” he said, mouth dry. The kindness made him want to flinch away, but something else, some part of him that had always wanted a mother, wanted to stay.

“Because I know you’re in love with him. And…it’s just so sweet of you,” she said.

He frowned, offended. “Sweet?” That was patronising.

“Yes,” she replied evenly. “You’re so loyal, Alex. I’ve liked that about you,” she said with a smile. “But you have to understand something.”

“What?” Xander asked, confused. He suddenly felt as though he’d forgotten something important, like there was something he was supposed to be doing. But her next words drew all his attention.

“Dean doesn’t love you, Alex.”

The air went out of Xander like he’d been punched in the stomach. He stared at her, trying to make sense of the sympathy in her eyes. How could she say that to him?

She went on, pity pouring off her like she was trying to soften the blow. “He liked you, Alex, he really did. More than he’d liked anyone in a long time. And I suppose he does love you in a certain way, but he’s not in love with you. So when you said you wanted more from him, it was more than he could give, more than he was capable of. And he thought you’d both be better off if he ended it.”

“I’m so sorry, Alex.” She said it so hesitantly, like she regretted it. Like she cared that she was hurting him, like…

Like she was real.

“No. No, I’m not listening to this.” Xander’s heart beat faster as he realised how close he’d come. He’d dropped his guard for a second, bought into the fantasy, and it almost railroaded him. His voice rose as he said, “You’re not his mother, and you don’t know anything. I’m not going to listen to you.”

Xander resolutely turned his back, and headed across the room towards the phone. He tried to ignore the feel of her eyes on him, of the residual effect of that cocooning warmth and pity.

“I do know, Xander,” she said patiently. “I’m the only one who knows. I’m the only one who’s been paying attention.”

Xander paused, phone in hand. He could still feel the pull of the First’s fantasy. Then, mentally kicking himself for hesitating, he said, “You’re lying.”

He raised the phone to his ear, but it was dead. No dial tone.

“I’m not lying, Alex.” She was just behind him, and he twitched, reminding himself that the First couldn’t touch him. But it could speak, and was still using Mary’s soft, sorry voice.

“I’m not lying. Maybe I lied to the others, but with you…the truth hurts more than the lies you tell yourself.”

His hand clenched around the useless phone.

“For what it’s worth…I’m sorry.”

He shuddered. Her sympathy seemed so genuine. Xander felt himself weaken, even though he knew it was a fantasy. He knew it was the First, and he was about to break anyway. No, he told himself. _Don’t_.

“Get out,” he ordered it, unable to turn around, unable to risk seeing the look in her eyes. “Get out. Get away from me.”

“It hurts, doesn’t it? Everything hurts.” Her voice was hypnotic, wrapping around him like a blanket until all he could do was listen to it.

Xander sank to his knees, staring at nothing. The phone fell to the floor, thudding softly on the carpet, and his empty hands clenched into fists.

“You’ve given up so much, and lost so badly. Aren’t you tired, Alex? Aren’t you tired of being so lonely?” she said, kneeling close beside him. She didn’t touch, but her presence was warm and she smelled like home.

“Stop,” he begged. “Just stop. _Please_.”

“So tired, so heartbroken. You keep telling everyone you’re fine, keep telling yourself you’re okay. It must be so hard to hide it all the time. How empty you are inside, and how your heart feels like it’s been dying for years. How you’ve been ripped apart, piece by piece, every time he pulled away from you.”

She was getting through, and she knew it, but somehow she kept the triumph out of her voice. She sounded so sorry.

Tears were pouring down Xander’s face, and his throat was tight, but he managed a weak protest. “No, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t…”

“What?” she asked him gently. “Didn’t let yourself admit how much it hurt to be cast aside again and again?”

He couldn’t answer her.

“And that phone call was the last straw. You’ve _lost_ him, Xander.” She paused, letting the truth of that sink in.

“And what good are you in this fight, if you have nothing to fight for anymore?”

That was it. That was the truth Xander was horribly afraid of, laid bare. And now Xander was alone, defenceless.

“You can stop the pain, Xander. You can end it.” She came closer, to whisper in his ear. “They’ll be better off without you.”

***

Slowly, Xander turned to look at her. He felt like he was underwater, like all his senses were dulled and numb. He didn’t know what he wanted to see in her face, what he expected to see, but all he found was compassion.

She’d be sad to see him go.

He felt hollow. He’d been hurting for so long, a deep ache in his chest that wasn’t ever going to go away. Dean was gone, and Xander was so tired.

“No more pain,” Mary promised. “Just peace.”

And that spoke to the still place inside him. The part of him that wanted quiet, that was sick of fighting and hurting. The part of him that was just waiting for it all to be over.

“Your friends will understand,” Mary said. “They won’t blame you, Xander, for wanting the pain to stop.”

No, he realised, they wouldn’t blame him for that. Other things, maybe. Not that.

“They won’t blame you for leaving,” she said.

Xander blinked. Leaving. That snagged on something.

_I guess I’m trying to tell you I’m in. Wholeheartedly._

He wasn’t going to leave. He wasn’t going to be that guy.

He wasn’t going to leave.

She kept talking, more about peace, and how the hurt would go away. He stared at her – no, _it_ – horrified.

“And it’s all going to end anyway,” it said, calmly rational. “Wouldn’t you rather go out in peace?”

“You know, I don’t think that’s really my style,” he said rudely.

It sat there in shock for a second. “Alex…”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not another fucking word. I’ve heard enough of this.”

“But…”

“I’m not leaving,” he said, pushing himself up off the floor. She stood with him, watching him warily. He went on, and his voice only shook a little. “Yes, I’m lonely, and hurt, and I miss Dean so bad it hurts to breathe sometimes. And maybe half the stuff you said about him was true.”

Xander paused for a deep breath, looking the First in the eyes. “But I will not abandon them.”

It studied him, read his features, and looked disappointed for the briefest second. Then Mary’s face flowed into Buffy’s, at the same time as disappointment became scathing contempt.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter,” she sneered. “I’ll soon be shredding the flesh from their bodies. Can you picture it? Your girls? Are you sure you want to be here to see that?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Xander said.

With a final glare, the First disappeared.

Xander stood there, swaying slightly. After a moment, when it didn’t reappear for another round, he took a deep breath. His body shuddered, and he staggered towards the bathroom. He threw up for what felt like eternity, and when his stomach finally stopped heaving, he sat there, pale on the cold tile.

It took almost two hours for the shaking to stop.

***

When Xander stepped through the front door of the Summers house the next day, he felt like it was written on his face, like what had happened would be visible to anyone who glanced over. He hadn’t slept, he felt like he was thinking through cotton wool, and he still had that scattered, post-shock feeling inside him.

He paused in the front hall to gather the shattered reserves of his courage, and looked around anxiously. For once, the house was quiet. Xander took a deep breath, and went in search of Giles.

He found him at the dining room table, looking over the books. Xander waited to be noticed, but Giles was engrossed.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, Giles?”

“Yes? What is it?” Giles said, without looking up from whatever the parchment in his left hand was. His voice was cold, distracted.

And Xander quailed. “Nothing.”

He waited, hoping Giles would look up, or give any sign he even knew Xander was still there. But Giles was focused on that piece of paper in a way that made Xander think he wasn’t even really looking at it. After a few moments, Xander moved on.

He walked through to the kitchen, feeling off-balance. Everything looked strange. Alien.

The kitchen was full of talking, laughing girls. A chill went down his spine, and he headed past, out the back door. He sat heavily on the steps, dropping his head in his hands as reality came crashing back. Memories of the previous evening flooded through him again, and he shuddered again. It felt like he’d been shaking for days.

He was lost in thought when Dawn sat down next to him. Not so lost that he didn’t realise she was there, but he knew he couldn’t look at her.

“Xander?” she said softly, and the worry in her voice almost undid him.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m alright.” Another lie, but he didn’t want to worry her.

Dawn opened her mouth to say something else, but backed off, instead.

He relaxed slightly, glad she wasn’t going to push. “Is Willow around?”

“No, she went to LA, remember?” Xander exhaled heavily. Dammit. “She’ll be back tonight,” Dawn added, trying to reassure him.

“Okay. That’s okay. It can wait,” Xander said.

One of the girls in the house behind them called for Dawn. She hesitated, torn, unsure whether or not to stay with him.

“Go. I’ll be fine,” he said. She stood and went, looking over her shoulder at him.

He sat there in the sun for a while, trying to warm up and hoping it would make him feel a little less raw, a little less likely to fall apart. Then he stood and went back into the house.

***

He spent the rest of the day trying to concentrate. The panic had faded, and now it felt like he was watching the world from a thousand yards away. He tried to sit still, tried to read, but he was restless. The girls came and set up shop around the table, and he felt so uncomfortable he had to leave.

Dawn’s eyes followed him everywhere, but he made the effort to act normal enough, and she didn’t say anything.

At sundown, he finally escaped. “I’m just going to pick something up from home. I’ll be back.”

The girls barely murmured, and Giles didn’t reply. Buffy had gone out patrolling with Spike, and Giles had been gritting his teeth ever since.

Dawn followed him to the door. “Will you be okay? Can I come with you?”

Xander plastered on his warmest, most normal expression before he turned around. “Dawnie, I’ll be fine. Look, I took one of Buffy’s axes home with me last night, I want to go pick it up. I’ll come straight back here, or I’ll join the others on patrol.” He smiled. “Do I have your permission, boss lady?”

She rolled her eyes, and he could see relief sneaking through the worry in her eyes. “I guess,” she said. “Just be careful, okay?”

He smiled again, and promised, “I’ll be back later, okay?

When she was gone, and the front door was closed behind him, Xander let the expression fall off his face. God, he was tired. He trudged down the walk to his car. He’d go home, have a nap, and come straight back. He didn’t want Dawn to worry.

He just needed a nap. Then he’d be fine.

***

On a road outside town, Willow and Faith almost ran over a girl. “She’s bleeding badly,” Willow said. “We have to get her to hospital.”

“Yep, guess I’m back in Sunnydale,” Faith drawled.

***

Xander pulled off his jacket and toed off his boots. He left them on the floor of his bedroom, and collapsed across his unmade bed, still in t-shirt and jeans. His mind was somehow numb and buzzing at the same time. He blinked once, twice, then closed his eyes as exhaustion took hold and he felt himself sinking into sleep. These all-nighters with semi-corporeal manifestations of pure evil have got to stop, he thought, too sleepy to realise he’d forgotten to set his alarm.

He was asleep in seconds. Then he started to dream.

***

Willow and Faith talked awkwardly at the hospital.

“Don’t worry,” Faith tossed over her shoulder as she walked away. “I’m sure me and Buffy will get along just fine.”

Willow watched her go, then turned anxiously back to the unconscious girl.

***

Xander dreamed of Dean. In his sleep, he was there on the roof again, under the moonlight. They’d brought up those rickety kitchen chairs, and the bright lights of the San Francisco traffic passed below them.

Dean looked over at him, and a smile spread over his face. A genuine smile, not the charmer’s grin he used on everyone else.

All Xander had to do was smile back. So he did, and that was it. They sat on the roof of their motel, and drank their beers under the moon. For a few short moments, it was perfect.

But then Dean was gone. Xander stood, alone and unsteady on the sloping roof. Behind him, his chair suddenly clattered away. It fell, and when Xander peered carefully over the edge, there was only blackness below.

“It’s not so far to fall,” came a voice from behind him.

He turned. “Jesse?”

Jesse grinned at him. “I told you, I’m a new man.”

With that, he vamped out and pounced. Xander had one second of pure terror, before the weight struck him, and they tumbled off the roof into nothing.

***

Faith found Spike in the graveyard, and traded barbs with him and Buffy. They called a truce, and headed back to Buffy’s place. As soon as they came through the front door, Dawn bolted up to them before anyone could even get a word in.

“Did Xander find you?” she demanded.

Buffy and Spike exchanged a look. “No. Was he supposed to?” Buffy asked.

“He said he was going to pick up something from home, then he was going to catch up with you. I’ve been calling him, and I can’t get him on the phone,” she said urgently.

“Dawn,” Buffy began, but Dawn frowned at the placating tone in her voice.

“No, Buffy, something’s wrong. He’s been off all day, and it’s really not like him to go awol like this.”

“Off? What do you mean, off?” Giles asked. “And why haven’t you said anything?”

“I was waiting to see if he came back with Buffy. But…”

“Fine, we’ll go look for him,” Buffy said tiredly.

“I can go,” Giles offered.

“Fine,” Buffy said angrily. The tension between them flared, until Buffy turned her back and stalked off into the lounge room. Giles, mouth tight with irritation and pain, headed for the door. Dawn grabbed her coat from the rack and followed him.

“Don’t argue, Giles. I’m coming with you,” floated back in from outside.

Spike turned to Faith. “Obviously, almost none of that was about you,” he said with a dry smile. “I don’t know what’s up with the whelp, but Giles was part of a plot to kill me, for Buffy’s own good.”

“Right,” Faith replied slowly. “Hey, it’s not like I expected a welcome wagon.”

***

Xander fell forever. Jesse slipped away into the dark with a laugh. Then falling somehow became running, and he was running as fast as he could, because they were after him.

It was a hallway, and Xander was sprinting, sliding round corners. Endless hallways, with doors he knew were locked. And they were right behind him.

He slammed through a door at the end of the hall, and suddenly he was out in the streets. It was dark, and he didn’t know where he was, and he was still running. Every time he passed an alleyway, he expected them to jump out at him.

The streets gave way to forests, and the branches whipped across his face. He could hear them behind him, and the roots of the trees were snaking up to catch his ankles.

Before he could twist away, they pounced. He fell heavily, and they pinned him down. He fought, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t shift their weight.

A shape loomed over him. Dean. No. Fangs – it was the guy from the alley. Xander couldn’t even remember his name.

He morphed into Buffy, and she grinned maliciously as she pinned him down.

Spike slid up beside her, catching her eyes and sharing her smile. He looked down at Xander, eyebrow raised, laughing as he wrenched Xander’s left arm out and away from his body.

Xander tried to scream, but someone had their hands over his throat, pressing hard so he couldn’t get air.

He looked up – it was Mary.

She looked over, and he followed her gaze, only to see Spike vamped-out and ready to bite. Xander struggled, but Buffy held him down.

The pain in his arm was real. It sharpened, burned, and spread until he couldn’t see for agony.

Their hands released him, and he screamed.

***

At the hospital, Willow jerked in her chair. She’d been asleep, and woke violently with the conviction that something was terribly wrong.

The screaming reached her senses almost as soon as she started to concentrate. She could feel him, feel his pain and terror.

Willow bolted from her chair, took a few stumbling steps and disappeared.

Behind her, the girl continued to sleep.

***

Dawn and Giles arrived at Xander’s apartment. Dawn reached for the doorknob, but Giles pulled her hand back. There was something tickling his senses, something…

Something was wrong.

He pushed Dawn back while he tried the door. It was unlocked. Fear mounted inside him as he rushed into the apartment. It was silent, empty.

But the wrongness… Giles’ head snapped around, and he stared hard at the bedroom door. A split second, and he was across the room, slamming the door open.

The scene in the bedroom had him frozen. Behind him, Dawn gasped.

Xander sat cross-legged at the end of his bed. He hadn’t reacted to their entrance, hadn’t moved a muscle. He stared ahead like he wasn’t seeing anything.

He’d taken the eight-inch hunting knife that usually lived in his bedside table, and dug it into his left forearm.

The blade cut in straight down his arm, parallel to the bone, and the wound was deep and long. Blood was pouring out, soaking Xander’s lap and spreading across the sheets and mattress.

Dawn screamed.

At that moment, Willow materialised with a flash, stumbling across the room.

She crossed the room and threw herself down in front of him. “Xander! Xander?” She shook his shoulders a little, trying to get a response.

Giles recovered and moved quickly, snatching up a towel off the floor and crossing to Xander. He bound it tightly round his upper arm, trying to cut off the blood flow. Behind him, Dawn picked up another towel, and a shirt, and passed them to Giles with shaking hands. Giles packed them in around the knife, trying to staunch the blood.

He carefully pulled at Xander’s hand, and tried not to shudder when it came off the hilt of the knife with no resistance, falling onto the bed like a dead thing.

Willow was still pleading with Xander, touching his face and trying to get him to look at her. “Xander, come on, please, you have to wake up. Xander, wake up!”

Slowly, Xander blinked. The faraway look in his eyes receded a little, then more as he blinked faster. “Wills?” he slurred.

“Xander,” she sobbed. “God…what have you done?”

He frowned. “I was dreaming. What’s…what’s wrong…”

The pain in his arm registered. He stared down in horror, the previously slack hand coming up to try and pull the already-sodden towels aside.

“Don’t,” Giles said sharply. He’d been wrapping more and more scraps of material, shirts and towels, whatever Dawn could find, around Xander’s arm “You’ve lost too much blood. Dawn, go and call an ambulance. We have to get him to hospital right now.”

Xander couldn’t focus, couldn’t understand what had happened. It was a dream. It wasn’t real. Spike bit him, but it was a dream.

He struggled, trying to get away, trying to get the knife out where he could feel it lodged in his arm.

“No, Xander, you have to stay calm!” Giles’ voice was strong through his confusion, and he tried to listen. He breathed deep, like you’re supposed to, but found himself getting dizzy. His heart was beating so fast. Willow said something – why was she scared? – he could smell blood – who was hurt? – and he was so tired, and God, he was thirsty, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and he couldn’t breathe, and then there was blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a song by Nine Inch Nails.


	3. When The Levee Breaks

Xander woke to someone shaking his shoulder. It was night, and his alarm clock was a grim-looking Giles. “We have to go, Xander. Can you get dressed?”

“Sure,” Xander replied, confused and disoriented. He was...this was his bedroom. He’d been asleep. And he felt unusually muggy. Normally he could wake up and be ready to fight in seconds; it was a product of living on the hellmouth. Tonight, though...

He was still woolgathering as he pulled on jeans and a hoodie. He was mulling over the bandages wrapped tightly round his left forearm when Giles came back to hurry him up. Xander grabbed socks and sneakers, and followed Giles out the door.

His apartment. What the hell had Giles been doing in his apartment? But Giles’ mouth was set in a thin line that didn’t really invite questions.

Once at the hospital, Xander followed Giles to a ward, and it took him several minutes to work out what he was looking at.

There were five potentials in the beds in front of him. All of them wore the bandages of heavy injuries, and two were so pale, so sickly-looking Xander wondered whether they would make it.

As he was standing there, Dawn came up and stood at his elbow. He looked down at her, about to ask what happened, but one look at the expression on her face and the words died in his throat. Her eyes were clear and sad, pleading with him and sympathising at the same time. Then she put her arms around him and hugged him tight.

“I’m so sorry, Xander,” she whispered.

Surprised, Xander hugged back. He didn’t say anything, mostly because he couldn’t remember what she had to be sorry for, but also because of the feeling of dread that was growing inside him. He was beginning to think someone was about to tell him Buffy or Willow had died while he was asleep.

Despite his anxious thoughts, the exhaustion that had been dogging him sunk its teeth in. “I need to sit down, Dawnie,” he murmured, and she helped him stagger over to a chair. There were girls going in and out of the door next to him, but he had no trouble slipping into a doze.

When he woke, his ass was numb and Giles had come to take him home. The trip was a blur; he remembered some stairs, thought he recognised Buffy’s hallway, and Dawn was there, and then he collapsed into sleep on the floor.

***

He half-woke when Dawn crept into the room. She was sniffling, like she was trying not to cry. “Hey Dawnie,” he muttered. “What’sa matter?”

She stifled a sob, and he opened his arms up to pull her down into a hug. He held her tight, frowning when an ache shot up from his wrist. But the pain was muted, like he was on the good drugs, and he ignored it in favour of letting Dawn cry into his sweater. He thought he heard her say, “I hope we’ve done the right thing.

Then she pulled back, and, with tear-filled eyes, said, “I need you to stay, Xander. You can’t leave too.”

He blinked at her. “I won’t, I promise,” he said, after a minute. She looked at him, about to say something, when the door opened behind her, letting a shaft of light into the room. A halo of red hair, and that had to be Willow.

She said Dawn’s name, and Dawn pulled herself up. Xander briefly thought of following, but it didn’t feel like he could even lift his head. So he tucked his arms back in around himself, and drifted off again.

***

Xander woke again, eyes gritty. He lay there, sprawled on a makeshift bed of cushions on the floor of Dawn’s bedroom, and couldn’t quite summon the energy to get up.

He remembered all of it. The First, and how close he came to giving it all up. That horrible dream, and how afraid he’d been. Even waking up from it, with the feel of a knife in his arm. He’d heard shock sometimes blocked out trauma like that, but lucky him, he got to remember it all in vivid detail.

The blood. The panic. How tight his chest felt, and how his heart sped up until it made him feel sick. He’d passed out, but not before he’d seen Willow’s eyes spark up, and her glowing hands press against his chest.

Nausea twitched in his belly at the thought. What had she done to him? He remembered waking a few times with the strangest feeling, like he could feel all the organs and veins, hell, the _cells_ in his body. He’d been hyper-aware of his heart pumping his blood, could feel it moving through him. The feeling was gone, thank the gods, and he felt fine, now. Normal. But the memory of it freaked him out. What the hell had she done to him?

Of course, he could haul himself out of bed, go downstairs and ask someone. That’d be the grown-up thing to do, to go and re-join the land of the living.

But the emptiness in his heart was still just a little too...empty. The great aching pit inside him was a little too deep, and if he went downstairs, he knew the pain would be written all over him. And he’d rather not have to face his friends like that.

So Xander lay there under Dawn’s pink curtains and Michelle Branch poster, sunlight striping his bare ankles. Mr Grunido, the bear that was cousin to Mr Gordo, was watching over him from Dawnie’s dresser, and he could hear the girls talking downstairs. He closed his eyes and tried to let it go for a while, tried to get enough of himself back that the empty places inside him wouldn’t matter.

But then there were voices in the hall outside.

“...apparently it’s a characteristic of post-suicide depression. Oversleeping is common.”

“It’s been _three days_ , Giles. What are we going to do? What if this is real, not just the First messing with his head? What if he...”

“Willow, try to stay calm. I think it would be best if we wait until Xander wakes up before we start to panic. You said it yourself, this could also be your magic in his system, keeping him asleep while it stabilises his body.”

“Yeah,” Willow said, and Xander could hear the tremor in her voice. “But... _suicide_. I’m supposed to be his best friend. How could I not have seen this?”

Xander froze. They were talking about him. They thought he did this to himself?

“I don’t think it was really him, Willow,” Giles replied. “I think we can be fairly sure the First was putting a lot of pressure on him.”

“Shouldn’t we have seen that, too?” There was so much guilt in Willow’s voice that Xander almost regretted that he’d been the cause of it.

But anger sparked inside him, driving out all his sympathy. His apathy vanished, and he gritted his teeth as he pushed himself to sit up. She believed it, he thought furiously. She believed he was weak enough to just give up. After everything they’d been through, after everything he’d damn well done for her, for all of them, she believed he’d give up now?

Well, fuck that. He wasn’t going to stay here and be coddled, be treated like he was damaged and weak when he wasn’t. His hands shook with fury as he pulled his sneakers on, and the uselessness of his left one just frustrated him more. His left arm was wrapped in bandages from elbow to wrist, but he ignored it, keeping out the wave of horror by sheer force of will. She really believed he’d do that to himself?

He hauled himself to his feet, pausing briefly when the movement didn’t even make him dizzy. Obviously all the post-suicide-attempt depression was out of his system, he realised bitterly. The voices had moved down the hall; Willow and Giles had apparently decided not to disturb him in his fragile state. And that irritated him more than anything.

Xander slammed the bedroom door open and stormed down the hallway. He took the stairs quickly; the reasonable part of his brain had started to point out that if he talked to Willow now, while he was in this particular frame of mind, he’d probably say something he’d regret.

But before he could get to the front door, though, he heard Willow’s voice on the stairs behind him.

“Xander?” She sounded panicked, like she was afraid he was going to do something stupid.

“What?” he hissed, turning to glare, and she stopped on the stairs like he’d slapped her.

“I...” she stammered.

“You what, Willow? You don’t want me to kill myself? I _didn’t_. I didn’t even try to. And fuck you for thinking I would,” he shouted. She recoiled in shock, and Giles stepped in.

“What happened, then, Xander, if you didn’t do this?” he asked angrily.

“The First tried to Freddy Krueger me in my sleep,” Xander enunciated. “I didn’t deliberately try to take the early train out of here. And thank you so much for asking me before you leapt to the conclusion that I was weak enough and damn well _selfish_ enough to do that to all of you.”

With that accusation, Xander whirled around and slammed the door behind him as he left the house.

***

It was barely a block before remorse set in. Xander couldn’t believe he’d said that to her, to both of them. And he was fairly sure he’d seen Dawn watching with the girls. She must have been scared out of her mind for him, and he just threw it back in her face. God, he’d just had a fucking tantrum, like he was some overtired three-year-old.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to go crawling back, though. Not just yet. Not while his own anger was still ringing in his ears.

Fuck, that had been frightening. All his frustration, all his grief, everything that had been balled up inside him for so long had welled up without warning, and he’d very nearly taken it all out on Willow. And she was the last person to deserve it.

He’d go back when he’d calmed down. He’d grovel, Dawn and Willow would forgive him, and he’d feel like the world’s biggest asshole for a while. Maybe he’d make some cookies, this time.

Maybe not. The thought that they’d all believed he could do that still stung. Buffy, too, by association. Hell, he vaguely remembered Dawn actually waking him up in the middle of the night to make him promise not to do it again.

Fuck. Maybe he should go to the gym and beat up a punching bag for a while. His arm was useless, though, and now that he was paying attention to it, it started to ache. He touched his fingers lightly to the bandages, flexed his left hand and felt the cut skin and muscles rub together. He shuddered. He could tell it should hurt more, but all he could feel was the tingle of magic.

He headed for the gym, anyway. It would be nice to see someone who wasn’t going to wonder if they should hide the closest sharp objects.

As Xander reached the town-part of Sunnydale, as opposed to the suburbs, the traffic grew more and more congested. He wandered between cars, his arms crossed carefully over his chest to protect his injury, and watched people leave town. He couldn’t believe the bad had finally got big enough to break the mental barrier most of them seemed to have. Although, when he thought about it, the origin of all evil would do it. He tried not to think of the fleeing population as rats deserting a sinking ship.

It was eerie to see so many people leaving Sunnydale. It reminded him of the ghost towns in old westerns. But when he reached the gym and found Sheppard packing up the equipment, preparing to get his family the hell out of dodge, Xander could only approve of that plan wholeheartedly.

Denied one set of people who didn’t think he was crazy, he went by the Bronze in the hope that he hadn’t been fired for unexplained absences. But there was a ‘closed’ sign hung on the door. Damn, he thought. He could have used a drink.

“Hey,” came a familiar voice.

It was Rico, and Carly was with him. “Good to see you, Xan. Brian said you were sick; are you feeling better?”

“Yep, all better,” Xander replied with a grin. “I see the place is closed. What, you guys just can’t stay away?” he asked.

“One last tour, man,” Rico replied. “We’re heading out of town today, and Carly wanted to say good-bye to the place,” he said affectionately.

Xander didn’t bother to act surprised by the news.

“I don’t suppose you’re doing the same thing?” Carly added hopefully.

Xander shook his head. “No, I’m not going anywhere.” He’d lost count of the number of times he’d said that lately.

His friends were silent for a second. Then Carly asked, “Do you know what’s going down?”

Xander didn’t say anything, just met her eyes. She shuddered.

“You’re right to leave,” he said. “It’s not safe here anymore.”

“It’s never been safe,” Rico countered.

Before Xander could comment, Carly said seriously, “Listen, Xander, we’re gonna leave for LA in a couple of hours. Do you...do you wanna come with us?”

He stared at her, surprised. “Why?” he asked with a frown.

She seemed speechless, and Rico took over. “Because you’re gonna get yourself killed if you stay here?”

Surprised again at Rico’s bluntness, Xander took a minute to answer, and Rico went on. “We know what you do, sort of. We know you’ve been...fighting. But if you wanted, you could—”

“Thanks,” Xander interrupted. “But I have to stay.” He said it firmly, no doubt or hesitation. He had to make them see that there was no arguing with him on this.

Rico looked away, biting his lip, and Carly looked like she might cry. She started fumbling in her bag, looking for something. She pulled out her pack of cigarettes, and handed it to him.

Xander took it with a smile. She watched him light one, like she was trying to memorise his face, and Xander knew it was time to get out of there. If he stayed, they might get ideas about delaying their exit or something, of sticking around to try and change his mind.

“It’s going to be okay, guys. You’re going to head out to LA, and I’m…I’m gonna be fine,” he said quietly.

Carly nodded, and Rico studied him carefully. “You take care, Xander,” he said seriously.

“Hey, that’s my line,” Xander replied lightly. “I’ll see you around.”

He walked away without another word, feeling their eyes on him until he turned the corner out of the alley.

***

After wandering around town for a while, saying goodbye to places, Xander headed to his parents place to make sure they were leaving town as well. When he knocked, no-one answered. When he let himself in, he stopped in the doorway. The house was empty, stripped of furniture. They were already gone.

***

Out of other options and still not willing to go back to Buffy’s just yet, Xander went home to his apartment. He took a deep breath in the hallway outside, bracing himself before he put his key in the lock.

But when he stepped inside, everything looked normal. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but there were no evil vibes or menacing shadows or clouds of darkness. Just the same dingy furniture and curtain-filtered sunlight sparkling with dust motes.

Relief filled him as he locked the door behind him. He could grab a shower and a change of clothes in privacy.

When he peeled off his jeans in the bathroom, he was shocked to see the faint red stain of dried blood down his legs. He wondered briefly what he would find in his bedroom, whether his mattress had been soaked as well, then cut that train of thought off before it could get any further. He turned the water on as hot as it would go, and proceeded to scrub off as much of the bloodstain as he could manage.

The bandages on his arm got soaked in the shower, and practically fell off his arm as he towelled himself dry. Hesitantly, he unwrapped it, and couldn’t hold in a gasp.

The cut stretched the length of his arm. They hadn’t stitched it, and he could only assume Willow’s magic was somehow holding it closed. With trembling hands, he bound it back up again, but he couldn’t get the bandage tight enough with just one hand.

Feeling strained and tight, like something in him was about to break, Xander dressed in his comfiest pair of jeans and a t-shirt, then eyed his apparently clean mattress carefully before sitting down to pull on his shoes.

Just as he was about to get up and leave, his eyes fell on a scrap of leather lying on the bedside table. His wrist cuff. Xander reached out and picked it up. The ties that had kept it knotted around his wrist had been severed.

The one keepsake he had, the one reminder of Dean, and he’d never be able to wear it again.

He shattered. That childlike feeling of loss, of the fucking unfairness of it all, filled him up and wrecked him. Silent tears poured down his face, dripping onto the floor as his head dropped into his hands. He heaved for breath, sobs wracking his body.

Xander didn’t notice the red stain the cuff left on his hand, where the blood it had been drenched in soaked into his skin.

***

It was almost dark by the time Xander got back to the house. He’d cried himself out, let sorrow engulf him for a while, and he felt better. Not good, but better. He’d washed his face, and pulled on his leather jacket for armour, too, and he thought he looked pretty normal, considering.

He approached the house slowly, not sure what to expect. He was barely on the porch before the front door flew open, and Willow threw herself at him. Relieved, he just hugged her tight and let her cry into his sweater.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she stammered.

“God, Wills, it’s okay. I’m sorry I scared you,” he said.

He felt her relax a bit, but she didn’t let go. She just hugged him tight, and Xander couldn’t help but feel comforted. Dawn came out onto the porch, and Xander held out an arm when he saw her tear-stained face.

“Man, I’m sorry I yelled. I should’ve...” he said hoarsely, then trailed off. The asshole feeling was kicking in, and all he really had to offer was hugs. And the cookie plan, but that came later.

“We shouldn’t have thought you’d do that,” Willow said, and she seemed so much calmer. She pulled away, wiping her eyes. “You’re right, you’d never do that. I should have known that.”

She looked so chagrined, he had to let her off the hook. “Forget about it. I might have thought the same thing,” he offered.

She smiled at him. “No, you wouldn’t have,” she admitted ruefully. He shrugged, and the three of them headed into the house.

It was fairly quiet. A few of the girls were gathered round the table, and Xander ducked his head as the memory of his earlier freak-out came back at him. But Giles came over and ushered them through into the living room, pressing Xander towards the sofa. Willow curled up next to him, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask where Buffy was when Giles asked, “How do you feel, Xander?”

“I don’t know, Giles. Pretty shitty? I’m fine, physically, but...sorry about earlier.” He looked back towards the dining room to include the girls in his apology. Some of them had come through into the living room with them, and his apology garnered a few smiles.

Giles sat on an armchair opposite him. “That’s fine, Xander, you’ve had quite the ordeal.”

Xander grimaced in response to that, and Giles went on. “You should know that we tested you while you were asleep, and used the Prokaryote stone to determine that you don’t have a trigger.”

Xander was appalled. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. And they went ahead and stuck that thing in his brain while he was _asleep_? “Seriously? You couldn’t have waited until I woke up for that?” Xander said.

Giles frowned, but Xander was already backtracking. “No, forget it. I’m sorry. Suicide trigger, you had to find out. I’m over it.” He looked down, touched his arm with the fingers on the other hand. Then he remembered the bandage, and started carefully pulling his jacket off.

“Hey, Dawn? Can you re-do my arm for me? I couldn’t get it right with one hand.”

She smiled at him and perched on the armchair next to him. Willow frowned, and asked, “Why did you take the bandage off?”

“Shower,” he said, unable to go into more detail. She didn’t need to know about the blood. Although, from the look on her face, she could guess. He rested his forearm on the arm of the sofa, and Dawn got to work unwrapping his clumsy bandaging.

To divert attention from the rapidly-visible wound, Xander studied Willow for a second then asked, “What happened, anyway? What did you do to me, Wills?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but didn’t seem able to find the right words. “She re-filled your veins and jumpstarted your heart, Xander,” Giles said softly.

Xander inhaled sharply, and looked away from her. He looked down, looked at the long wound in his arm. It was almost healed, better than it had been even an hour ago. But it just felt so unnatural, suddenly.

“Did I hurt you?” Dawn asked anxiously.

“No, you didn’t,” Xander replied. He looked back up at Willow. “It doesn’t hurt.”

Their eyes met, and a few million things passed between them.

After a moment, Giles said, “Xander?” The silence broke, and Dawn started wrapping Xander’s arm back up.

Xander dropped his head a little, suddenly tired. “What’s the problem, then, G-man? I don’t have a trigger, so…”

“Well, I was going to ask… That is, to prevent this from happening again…”

Xander frowned. “Spit it out, Giles. Do you need to shove some other fancy rock in my head?”

Giles took refuge in lecture mode, and said, “Our experience tells us that the First breaks people down by preying on the cracks in their defences, as it were. Obviously, it’s found one of your weak spots, Xander, and a fairly serious one, I’d imagine.”

Xander tensed, and cold washed down his back, settled in his stomach. “And?” he said softly.

“Xander, if there’s something you’re worried about, some fear or vulnerability, the First has been using it against you and will probably continue to do so.” It was a leading statement, with an unspoken suggestion that now might be the time for Xander to unburden himself.

Xander stared at Giles. He could feel the room filling with expectation, like they actually thought he’d just tell them everything. _Now_ , after all these weeks and months of letting him deal with it alone? He stayed silent.

“Xander?” Giles pressed.

“What?” he demanded. “What is this, some kind of intervention? You think I can’t handle my problems myself? I didn’t actually try to slit my wrists, you know.”

Giles looked at him thoughtfully. Then he turned his head slightly, and said, “Girls? Do you mind leaving us alone?”

The potentials scattered. Most of them headed upstairs, some to the kitchen. Maybe Giles’ frosty tone scared them off, maybe they decided they had enough problems of their own, without investing in Xander’s. Either way, he’d been thinking they were his next excuse, and he gritted his teeth as they disappeared.

He looked down. Dawn was done, and Xander flexed his hand. His arm had healed so damn fast, and it occurred to him that he might even be able to hold a weapon already.

“Xander?” Willow said softly.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Willow,” he said grimly. He knew it wasn’t going to do any good.

“Xander, please,” Giles tried. “A vulnerability like this affects all of us, and shouldn’t be ignored.”

“I…” He began, about to protest.

“Xander, I can’t watch them do that to you again,” Dawn interrupted softly. He met her eyes, and the plea in them was too strong to ignore.

He sat back against the sofa with a huff. “You really want to know what’s been bothering me? I would have thought it was obvious,” he finally said, dispirited.

Willow and Giles actually had to think for a second, and Xander started to simmer with anger again.

“Dean?” Willow guessed, and she actually sounded surprised. Xander glared at her, and extricated himself from the sofa. He paced away, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You know, I really don’t want to talk about this. I don’t suppose you’re going to let me leave,” he said bitterly.

“No-one’s not leaving,” Giles replied calmly. After a moment, when no-one else seemed willing to jump-start the conversation, he added, “I take it things with Dean didn’t end well.”

“The problem was more that they ended, Giles,” Xander replied. He paused for a second, memories of his discussion with the First flooding his mind again. Could he really tell them? Hell, he thought. Be honest.

“But you know the part that really sucked? With the exception of Dawn, none of you _cared_.”

He expected to be angry. He expected to rage, to shout at them, to want to hit something. But he just felt bleak, and when he spoke he knew he sounded resigned. “He left me, and all you could do was say I was better off without him. Better off without the person I was in love with? What the hell was I supposed to do with that?”

“Xander,” came Willow’s broken whisper. She stood, started towards him, but stopped like she’d been slapped.

Xander stood there alone in the front hall of Buffy’s house, arms wrapped around himself and aching with hollowness. He’d finally said it, and now there’d be guilt, and apologies and a great big mess. They were staring at him like he’d grown a second head, and he was too tired to deal with it.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” came a warm voice from behind him. He tensed, and a sharp pain went through his arm. He knew without looking that it was her, behind him. Mary.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Xander,” she said softly whispered. “You can leave. Just walk out the door.”

“Get away from him,” Buffy growled. Xander turned, looked past the First to see Buffy by the stairs. He looked around; everyone looked horrified, and he realised they could see it, too.

The First ignored Buffy, and leaned close enough that Xander could feel the warmth again, the way she felt like home. “You can make the pain stop, Xander,” Mary whispered.

The promise hung in the air, in the still, frozen silence of the room. He looked around again and he could see how that warmth, that home-like feeling stretched to entrap his friends. For a second, they felt the same yearning for rest.

And it crystallised something in him. They all felt it, all the time. The same loneliness and fear, the same doubt. The same wish for something they could never have.

“No,” he said. “I won’t.”

The First at his back, and he wasn’t afraid. Not afraid to die, or to live without. He’d found out what his weaknesses were, he knew who he was and what he was capable of. He’d die on his own terms.

It must have felt the change in him, because it disappeared with a snarl and a flash. Xander met Willow’s eyes again, looked over to meet Buffy’s, and felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a song by Led Zeppelin.


	4. Tomorrow Comes Today

Xander was sitting on the roof, lost in thought. It had been a busy day, full of training and contingencies. Faith had helped him test his reflexes – he’d been totally surprised to see her; it turned out he’d slept through a lot – and his arm was almost as good as it ever was. They finally had a plan, and he was once again faced with the fact that this could be his last night on earth.

He’d tried not to think about how it all could have been different. There was no point going off in to fantasy-land. You couldn’t change the past.

He’d written an email to Dean, anyway. It was stupid, and Dean probably didn’t even check that account anymore, but there were things he’d needed to say, and he wasn’t going to get another chance to say them. He’d barely stopped short of telling Dean he loved him. That was one thing he couldn’t bear to send out into the void, no chance of a response. Not again.

A voice behind him broke his train of thought, brought him crashing back to reality.

“Hey,” Spike said. He was leaning out of Buffy’s window, and looked at Xander quizzically.

Xander froze with terror, waiting for the smirk, the cutting remark. But Spike just looked more and more confused by Xander’s silence.

“You should come inside, Harris. It’s not safe out here,” he said, flickers of concern in his voice.

Thinking furiously, Xander held out a hand. Spike’s eyebrows went up, but he slowly clasped it with one of his own.

As soon as Xander felt that cold skin, he relaxed. His breath huffed out, he dropped Spike’s hand, and turned back to face the street again. He glanced back, and at Spike’s continued confusion, he said, “Didn’t they tell you? The First paid me a few visits, and you were one of the visitors.”

He let Spike think about that for a few minutes, and went back to looking out over the street. He expected Spike to make a swift exit, but instead the vampire clambered out through the window and sat next to him on the roof.

Xander stared. Spike lit a cigarette, and asked, “Are you alright, then?”

Okay, weird, Xander thought, Spike gives a shit. He shrugged. “Yeah. It tried the big talk, you know, getting me to off myself. Then when I told it to shove it, it came back at me in my sleep.”

“In your sleep? What, Freddy Krueger style?” Spike said, surprised.

“Yep. Well, sort of. I was dreaming about being chased, and I tripped. They pinned me down, and you bit me on the arm.”

Spike was silent again, shocked. “But...I thought it couldn’t touch you? How did it...” He gestured to Xander’s bandaged arm.

“Oh, that was me. While I was dreaming, it made me stick a hunting knife in my arm,” Xander said diffidently.

Spike exhaled hard, blowing out smoke. “Christ, that’s fucked up.”

“Yeah. Can I have one of those?” Xander asked.

Spike absently handed over the packet, and kept talking. “I mean, talking you into it is one thing, but getting you to...what? _Sleepwalk_? That’s just...” He seemed lost for words. “It’s fucking _cheating_ , is what it is. There’s no way that was a conscious decision, and once you’ve told it to sod off, that should be it. I mean, bloody hell.”

Xander watched Spike get all worked up and outraged, thinking bemusedly about old Chinese curses. His life was interesting. “It’s the First Evil, Spike. I don’t think it really does ‘fair’,” he interjected mildly.

“Yeah, well,” Spike grouched, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t like the idea of it using me to fuck with people.”

“No, I guess that would be weird,” Xander agreed. “You know,” he added. “For a while they thought I might have a trigger? They tried the thing with the stone and nothing happened, but you and me, we could have finally had something in common,” Xander commented.

Spike didn’t reply, just snorted and nudged Xander with a shoulder. The he did a double take and frowned. “Hey, what the hell are you doing? Smoking kills, mate.”

Xander rolled his eyes. “If smoking wants to kill me, it can take a number.”

At that moment, a voice came from below. “Hey, is that pity party just for two, or can anyone join?”

It was Faith, and Xander called back, “You can only come up if you’ve been brainwashed by the First.”

Faith made a derisive noise, and scaled the porch to the roof with an ease that made Xander only a little bit envious. “You need someone to babysit the cuckoo’s nest,” she said, walking across the roof and throwing herself down next to Xander.

The three of them stared up at the stars, and Xander reflected that sitting on a roof with Spike and Faith was really not how he’d expected his week to turn out. Then again, the encounter group and massive blood loss had been a bit of a shock, too.

“Who’s out…Oh, it’s you guys,” Dawn said from behind them. Xander decided not to ask what she’d been doing in Buffy’s room. “What’s going on? Am I missing something good?” Dawn asked, and before anyone could answer, she climbed out to join them as well.

“Careful on the roofing, Bit,” Spike muttered.

“Dawn, what...” Buffy’s head popped out behind.

“Jesus,” Xander muttered, not quite able to believe his private sojourn on the roof had actually attracted a crowd. “Come on out, Buff. The world’s ending tomorrow, and it seems I’m having a party on your roof.”

“You should have told me, Xan, I’d have brought some snacks,” she said as she came and sat with them.

“Seriously? There could be snacks?” Xander said, and offered her a grin.

“Sure, if someone else gets them,” she said evenly.

It seemed no-one could be bothered. The group of them sat there, under the stars, and Xander couldn’t help but compare it to the last roof he’d been on, and how different the company was. The people around him now would fight by his side, and trust him to watch their backs. They were friends, family.

But they would never hold the pieces of him that Dean still owned. The ache inside him was familiar, and while it had diminished a bit with time, it was still there, the same black hole. The thought that he was never going to stop missing Dean scared him, and he realised that if he lived through tomorrow, he’d have to live the rest of his life with this pain inside him. He’d have to live the rest of his life dealing with this, dealing with Dean not being there.

He shivered, and Dawn put a hand on his shoulder. He drew his knees up a little bit more, and stared resolutely up at the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a song by Gorillaz.


End file.
